Imperfection Chapter 1
by ElementaryMyDear3
Summary: A JohnLock based more off of my own mind. Don't flame, I am entitled to my own artistic freedom. Characters more look like the RDJ and Jude Law pair. Enjoy this, it is more plot than romance, but have no fear, it will appear.
1. Chapter 1

Imperfection - A JohnLock fic. (Rated M for eventual smut)

As long as John Watson had known his odd detective friend, he'd always considered him perfect. Of course he had flaws, but they were pushed aside by his unbelievable intelligence, his breathtaking looks, and his strong sense of friendship. John remembered how much time the detective had taken from him, and how he never dared or had an urge to complain. He gladly accompanied him as a doctor and partner in justice, even in the most outlandish murder cases, from Blackwood to Moriarty,they'd handled it all. It had been around 3 months since John had proposed to Mary, and in that time, his friend had grown distant. Of course, John had never understood why. He was dense, as most are in comparison to...

"Holmes?" John asked groggily as he heard his bedside phone ring. He'd let it ring exactly twice, once to sit there dumbly and realize where he was, and another to muster enough anger to answer, wondering who the bloody hell would be calling him at 3 AM, and only one name came to mind.

"Watson, you sound positively awful, it's morning why aren't you awake yet?" he asked as if he had called at noon to find John was still asleep.

"Dear, who is it?" Mary asked just as covered in sleep, yawning. John gave her a glance and she sighed knowingly. "Good morning Holmes." she called into the phone. There was a pause on the other line, and John could see Sherlock twitch and sniff, uninterested. "He said Morning, darling." John assured, Mary allowing a convincing smile. "John, I need you over at Riley street as soon as possible. I believe I'll need assistance from the only doctor I trust." John contained his grin. He was so glad, the man was acting as though nothing had happened. He wouldn't, Sherlock wasn't the awkward type. John ushered himself out of the bed, bracing his feet for the cold flooring. He hissed and found his slippers, walking off to the shower. "You know, you don't have to leave John." Mary almost whined. "Yes, but I do miss it." he hummed, remniescing. He showered and dressed in an oxford, trousers, heavy coat and scarf, slipping on gloves and his bowler hat. Of course Sherlock had to pick the coldest bloody day in months to drag him out to a murder scene. He walked as briskly as his limp would allow, on his way to Riley street and on his way to Holmes. Holmes was dressed innaproptiately for the weather, slacks, an oxford, slippers, he was relatively certain. John sighed and shook his head. Holmes was staring at the iced ground, hands splayed about over his lips, knees shaking in thought. Watson looked down at the man who was sitting on the steps of asmall flat, waiting for him. Sherlock didn't need the sight of feet or the sound of voice to know it was John. However, he took his time trailing his eyes up past a cane, jacket, and up to the familiar face he hadn't seen in months. "Holmes, what the hell are you doing out here, you'll catch your death." he said. "I would've been warmer if you'd been awake, it's obviously your fault." he retorted, teeth chattering. He gripped his jaw to stop the sign of weakness. John rolled his eyes. "Yes. Forgive me for being daft. Now, shall we, before I have to defrost your carcass?" he asked. Holmes nodded and stood swiftly, walking up the the stairs with measured steps. John knew he did this to humor his veteran knee, it was a poor attempt at sympathy, but he welcomed it all the same. They entered the flat, the body covered in a white sheet, this meant Sherlock hadn't touched or looked at it yet. John blinked, "Sherlock, why do you need my help?" he asked, if Sherlock hadn't even assesed the damage, what was the point? The policeman looked at John. "Because the man under this sheet is someone important." he managed to say. He looked at Holmes, whose eyes shifted rapidly from the body to other things, his mind obviously trying to piece together who he knew that would be under the sheet. John understood now, he was there for moral support. The policeman bent down with a grunt to reach the sheet. "No." Sherlock said sharply. "If you'd please exit the room officer. I assure you nothing will be disturbed." the tall, wirey man breathed. The officer blinked and nodded, going off to a coffee shop. Sherlock paced, holding his mouth, ringing his hands. "We have to soon Sherlock-"

"Yes. I know." Sherlock cut him off, eyes intense. He finally bent down and quickly pulled off the sheet, hoping the shock would wear off quickly. The rugged man's eyes widened with memory and pain. John noticed, "Holmes? W-who?" Sherlock shook his head. He couldn't answer, not yet. He just sat there, frozen, his eyes analyzing and trying to put all the crumpling peices together. He abruptly stopped and reached for a card, peeking out of his breast pocket over his heart. It was, ironically enough, the king of hearts. "Sherlock, WHO?" John demanded, worrying over the man's incredulous face. "Kenneth Tate." he managed after a while. "Kenneth Tate." he repeated, the name flowing off his lips in an affectionate tone, a tone John had never heard escape Holmes' mouth. Sherlock bent down and stroked the side of the handsome man's face. This was insane, Sherlock craved personal space, this whole situation was completely preposterous. Sherlock stood, jaw tight. "John, cause of death?" he asked softly, gently. John raised an eyebrow, "Shouldn't you know that already Holmes?" he asked and he slowly bent down on his not injured knee to check for bruising, entrance wounds, etc, being exceedingly careful of course. John sat up. "Well, no signs of trauma from the outside, "I'm willing to wager..." John began and turned to see Sherlock holding a vial. He looked positively tortured, looking from the playing card to the poison, back and forth, perspiration beginning to form. John seethed as he stood, gripping his cane. "I hate to sound terribly rude but, what was this man's signifigance to you? A good friend? Family? Co worker?" he asked, knowing none were likely. Sherlock's eyes flickered to Watson. "An aquaintance." he said softly, showing restraint. The vial in Holmes' hand still had a bit of fluid inside. He pondered for a moment, then turned the playing card over and placed a little of the liquid onto the card and spread it by sloshing it around, sure to not place fingerprints on the surface. Sure enough, in elegant script, words formed. A letter, for Sherlock.

'Dear Mr. Holmes,

I really must admit I am quite an avid fan of yours, I've watched you work wonders on every case you've ever touched. And I must say, I am increasingly pleased to be your next subject of intrest. Who I am is of no great importance at the moment. However, who 'this' is (The man currently lying at your feet, dead) has a great deal of your attention. Doesn't he?' the letter inquired, causing Sherlock to grit his teeth, dip more poison onto the letter and rub. 'Does this strike a chord Holmes? Shed some light? Perhaps it even touches your heart. I sure hope so.'

It was unsigned. Sherlock read it and anger, sadness, and despair flickered over his stoney features. John took the letter and read. "Odd. Unsigned, no trace, no fingerprints, what does it mean Holmes?" John asked. "It means, our killer is not entirely finished with me." he said simply. "Sherlock, tell me who this man is." John said. "Tate was... Simply another student. The star of the highschool drama department and on through University." he began. "I suppose it'd be accurate to call him, my first 'crush'." he said, "At least the first person beside my own limited family who I felt any form of admiration for. He was Romeo in the last production I saw him in. The posion, I suppose makes sense. Clever." he spat. John's eyes softened. He couldn't picture a young Sherlock at all, let alone a young Sherlock who fawned over this man like a school girl. "Sherlock, t-that's awful." he said softly. Holmes sniffed, looking around, playing off 'unaffected'. John shook his head. "You're quite the actor yourself Holmes. You are truly positively depressed." he observed. Sherlock remained strong and just stared. John went beside him and put an arm on his shoulder. Sherlock ignored the man beside him, but took the warmth and comfort the touch gave him. "Well, now what?" John asked. "Well we very well can't go on and wait for him to strike..." Sherlock began, "He's going after people who are influential in my life. And he's using playing cards." he gathered, "He has a thing for 'puns', and is apparently a fan of me." he finished, pondering. "Well, that's all good and well, but how could he have figured out about you and Tate? Surely you didn't tell anyone?" he asked, "No. But I'm sure it could be observed." he said, remembering his lovesick expressions as a younger man. "Or perhaps," John began, "He's just as good of a deducer as you, Holmes." he said.


	2. Chapter 2

Imperfection Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes in any sense. Unfortunately. :'(

Chapter 2:

Ssomehow, John found himself on Baker street yet again, driving Holmes to the flat he used to frequent daily. He sighed at those memories and parked, letting Sherlock exit. "John," he said, before closing the door, "I'll be needing you for this case. I shall likely call you again soon, or request your presence." he stated. John nodded, "Allright, whenever you wish." he said. Holmes turned to leave. john cleared his throat. Holmes turned aroundbagain briefltly. "Missed you, Holmes." the doctor said, grinning brightly and driving off. Holmes watched him go and headed towards his flat, "Yes, yes, don't we all?" he sighed. Sherlock walked up steps into his flat, he heard racket and slinked over to the stairs to try to escape to his study, but sure enough two clicking heeled feet were behind him. "Holmes!" she screeched, "Mrs. Hudson!" he replied with ferver. The woman smirked, "Sherlock, the house is an absolute mess, I don't know why I bother. You left and've been gone since midnight, where were you?" she asked. "On a case Mrs. Hudson." he explained. "With John?" she asked, something like hope in her eyes. "Yes. With John." Sherlock replied and scaled the stairs, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I shall require tea and biscuts relatively soon," he relayed to the woman downstairs.

John went home to see Mary looking over wedding details, he turned towards the door again in hopes to avoid what he knew was coming. "John, don't even think about it," Mary hummed. John walked into the parlor and kissed the woman's cheek. "Morning, darling." he offered. "So, which is better for the invitations?" she asked, showing him several parchments, fonts, etc. He looked at them with faked interest and lazily chose a pairing. "But don't let my decision influence you, I know good and well you like what you like." he said. Mary smiled, "That is correct, now here's the guest list, look it over." she said, handing him a peice of parchment. Family, family, Her family, his family, family he didn't even recognize. John raised an eyebrow, "You're inviting Sherlock?" he asked. "Well, of course, is he not your best friend?" Mary asked, thinking ot silly of him to ask when John'd been at the man's flat for hour upon hour for weeks at a time. "Well, Y-yes, of course. At least I'd like to think so." he said, "But, can you imagine dear, him wanting to be at a fomal, public gathering with the main intrest being affection?" he inquired. "I believe I've just listed his least favorite things." John said, picturing the empty 'reserved' pew'. "Come on John, he's your best friend. I'm sure he can put his issues aside for one day if it means making you happy." she said. John hoped so, he couldn't imagine his wedding without Holmes. He intended to ask him to be his best man, but, he knew what kind of beration it opened him up for. He knew Holmes wasn't fond of Mary, but he didn't understand why he was hostile on the subject.

"Sherlock, tea's on!" Mrs. Hudson rang, placing a tray near the recliner in the parlor. "Sherlock!" she yelled, trying to be heard above the violin Sherlock was playing. She walked upstairs to see the familiar sight of a disheveled Holmes who hadn't showered, shaved, slept,bor eaten for days. He was thinking, eyes wide, staring at the opposite wall as he played the instrument. "Holmes," she began gently, fortunately causing Sherlock to lower his violin, blink and look at the expectant woman. "Tea. Please, come eat and drink something." she said. She glanced around, sighed and left. Sherlock had been on a drug fueled thinking session for the past 3 days. Holmes sniffed and stood, a bit woozy, and suddenly, tea sounded fantastic. "You've got a letter as well." she called. Holmes sat down, sipping tea and looking over at the fancy invitation. "No. No, I'm not going." he said simply, his tone final.

"Why ever not Sherlock? He's your best- no, ONLY friend, the least you can do is show up." Mrs. Hudson argued. "I'm afraid I can't. I'll be on holiday." he said. "You hate travel, and you terrified of trains." Mrs. Hudson reasoned. "Not terrified. Wary." he corrected. The woman huffed and rolled her eyes. "How about you focus on your case now Mr. Holmes." she offered, that title only used when she was upset with him. "Brilliant idea." he agreed and went to shower, passing up shaving, dressing and going out for a walk, the letter untouched, unopened.

"Yes, thank you Mrs. Hudson, I'll try." John sighed, Sherlock wasn't home, more than likely he was roaming the streets to find inspiration or clues for their most recent case. It'd been three days, something was bound to happen soon. John walked down the flat steps, waving goodbye to Mary and stroling along, hitting places Sherlock frequented. Cafe's, parks, libraries, music halls, a fighting ring, where John's hand itched to place a bet, but he refrained. He left the building, walking down cobbled streets, his cane clicking as he walked. Where in the world was he? It seemed he had dissappeared completely. He sat on a bench, the whole situation was positively daffy. A man, going after what's close to Sherlock, for the fun of it. He was sure Holmes relished in the opportunity to not be bored and trapped in his house. Holmes was a right genius and often sheilded himself from the world. Why wouldn't he? No one understood him anyway. John stood with a sigh, clutching his knee. He walked slowly towards his home but he was side swiped by a tall gentleman with ashen hair. "Holmes?" he asked incredulously. "No time to explain John, run." he commanded, John did the best he could, wincing as the weight slammed down on his knee. They ran to a building; an old school house, right before the police arrived. They let the two in, Holmes waloed into a room to see an older man keeled over on a desk. Sherlock's lip curled. "Holmes? What is it?" he asked. "An old teacher. The only man alive who dared call me stupid." he said simply, not seeming to be too exceedingly bothered by his death. "Cause of death," John began. Sherlock silenced him with a hand, chewing on his bottom lip. "There are ink splatters on the paper, mixed with dried blood, he's slumped over obviously to hide the real impact... Oh God, John, you know how I am with blood, please look for me." he said, John lifting the man up carefully. "My God." he breathed. Holmes took a breath, he had been facing the other way. "Entrance wounds in several places, mainly on the face and neck made by ink pens of several colors and styles, however all of them are commonly used by teachers. It is obviously a brutal attack, anger involved, passion. He bled to death, of course, but he was beaten and suffered as well..." Sherlock deduced. John shook his head, looking at the body. "Brutal indeed..." he began, "Ah, Holmes, another card." he commented, setting the body down and taking a card that had been pinned to the table by a red inkpen that was nearly halfway through the table. He handed the card to Sherlock who wiped off the blood and ink to reveal another letter.

'Dear Mr. Holmes,

As I feel incredibly guilty after taking your first love, so I decided to rid you of someone you detest. I hope I have redeemed myself. However, I am far from done. I intend to be your most precious person and fascination, even if it means ridding you of the person who occupies that space currently. I look forwsrd to our meeting Holmes.'

John read over his shoulder. Sherlock froze. His most precious person?


	3. Chapter 3

Imperfection Chapter 3

I don't own Holmes. However, I just watched Sherlock on the BBC last night. Does that count for anything?

Sherlock and John had made their way to Baker Street. John prepared tea while the other man paced and paced untill he swore there'd be holes in the floor. "Sherlock, honestly, stop. You're making me positively dizzy." Watson said, clutching the side of his head. Holmes looked over at him momentarily, then kept walking. "I just don't understand! Who is my most precious person?" he asked finally. "Mrs. Hudson?" Watson offered lazily. "No, no. It seems like he's only picking men, which would lead me to think the killer is a woman, or else the killer is trying to be the 'special man' in my life." Holmes sighed. "Well, if he's anything like you, he's perfect. Enjoy your neurotic lives together." Watson said simply. He looked around the room and noticed Sherlock's unopened wedding invitation. "Sherlock," he began, "Not now, John, I'm thinking." Sherlock said quickly, avoiding the inevitable. "Really Sherlock, this is serious." he said. "Allright, what is it?" he asked. "I was wondering if you'd give me the honor of being my... My best man?" he asked.

Sherlock paused, looking at the man who looked hopeful, yet not directly at him. He blinked and mentally cursed Mrs. Hudson. With a pained look on his face he replied, "Of course I will." he said softly. "Why else wouldn't I? You've obviously got no other friends." he commented, covering up discomfort with a playful insult. John's face lit up and he smiled broadly, "Really? Oh, thank you Holmes." he said. That face was enough for Sherlock to be somewhat content with his decision. "It's in a few weeks, you'll need a new suit, and we can arrange everything later." John said, standing, grabbing his jacket and cane, heading out the door, excited to go and tell Mary. Sherlock watched him leave with a pang in his chest, he didn't know that feeling. Sadness? Jealousy? He shrugged, sitting on his chair and picking up a teacup, sipping the now cold beverage. He grimaced and set it back down with a clatter.

"Ow! Watch it! Seriously old man, calm down!" John shouted from the ground, "Stop it! Honestly Holmes, it is not that bad, you can manage for a few more minutes." he said. "You've pricked me with the pin. Three times. And this suit is itchy." he complained. John rolled his eyes and stood, turning the man towards the mirror in the tailor's shop. "Well you look dashing, so suck it up." John replied simply. "You look 'dashing' as well." Holmes complimented when his friend joined him by the mirror. Indeed, they were both quite nice looking in tuxedoes. Sherlock sniffed and twitched his mouth. "Well, off with them now." he insisted and started peeling off the clothing, careful not to prick himself with the hemming pins. John watched the other man and shook his head. Damn right silly he was, and damn right attractive. He sighed, "Sherlock, why don't you attempt to get a date?" he asked. Sherlock stiffened, then straightened his body again, slipping on a shirt as he replied, "We've discussed this before. People arent't really my area. Especially not 'women' people." he said simply. "Yes, I'm fully aware. Bring a male then." John reasoned, rolling his eyes. Sherlock let out a pouty growl and slipped on his overcoat. "Fine, by all means, be a bachealor for the rest of your life." John rambled, "Don't blame me when you're alone and old with no one to love you or care for you, oh no." John went on, sarcasm drenching his words. "Hnm, I believe I'll manage." Sherlock said with a grin. "Bloody bastard." John replied, playfully nudging the detective's arm. Sherlock nudged him back, nearly sending the doctor off balance and laughed heartily, exiting.

"Sherlock, it's 7:30. Your date is here, and there's 15 minutes to the rehersal dinner!"

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson, I know. I'm coming down." he declared. Sherlock walked down, linked his arm with his date and they were off.

"Yes, I have heard that Springfield is beautiful this time of year, maybe we will consider it for the honeymoon Aunt Bertha, yes perhaps we... Will. Dear God." John said, looking to his Sherlock Holmes enter the room, dressed immaculately with a man that looked almost exactly like himself on his arm.

"Good evening John, this is Leo Finn." he introduced, the man on his arm, blushing at acknowledgement. "H-hello sir. Sherlock tells me alot about you." the man's effimnant voice rang. John blinked, not believing Sherlock had actually taken his advice and gotten a male date, let alone one who looked so much like him. What did it mean? "G-Good evening Sherlock, Leo." he said, nodding to the blonde man. John's eyes flickered to Sherlock, who swept an arm around Leo, protectively. He smiled, "Well, don't mind us John, go and mingle." he said and walked off, Leo in tow, holding onto Sherlock's broad chest, affectionately. John merely stood, mouth open, warmth burning in his chest and on his hands. What was this? Anger? Jealousy? No. Impossible.

Dinner went on famously, the guests pleased to see Mary and John so happy, as well as Sherlock and Leo. However, all throughout dinner, John found himself staring, irritably at the men across from him. Sherlock, suavely entertaining the facimile of himself. He let out a frustrated sigh. "You allright darling?" Mary asked, worried. Sherlock glanced over at the sigh. Their eyes met. "Fine." he mumbled to bend down and kiss Mary deeply. Sherlock's blood boiled. He went back to Leo, smiling dazzlingly and bent down to place a kiss on his neck, Leo's eyes widening and lip trembling with need. John grit his teeth and tried his hardest to ignore the men and get through the agonizing dinner.

The phone rang in the Watson home at aproximately 1:26 AM, John groaned and sat up, careful jot to wake Mary. "What is it Sherlock?" he hissed, his voice obviously pissed at the man and his actions as well as late night calls.

"It's Leo, John. He's dead." came the reply on the other end, the voice emotionless. "And there's another card. This one, signed." he said.

John stood and dressed, running off to the adress, stated by Sherlock. Leo was dead, and John felt intense relief. Was that wrong?


	4. Chapter 4

Imperfection Ch.4

I don't own Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, all Sir Aurthur's writings.

John appeared on the crime scene to see a body on the floor of Sherlock's flat. He swallowed, clothes were on, just one solid shot through the heart. John looked to Sherlock who was shocked, but not disturbed. He'd seen his fair share of death. However, he had just gone on a date with him. His lack of upset was nice. "Where's the card?" John asked finally. Sherlock held out the card.

'Dearest Sherlock, it seems I've missed my target. Oh well! At least that's one less broken heart to deal with, pleasant, don't you think? Well, you can thank me in person soon enough. Be on your toes Sherly dear. I WILL be your most precious person.

With Love, A'

"A?" John asked.

"An initial. But for what?"Sherlock pondered, pacing once more. John sighed, "I honestly have no clue, Holmes. I've been so busy planning I had no time to think about it."

"That's fine." Sherlock murmured, not wanting to think about the wedding. His best friend was being taken from him. "It's in two days, Holmes." he said softly, "Are you sure you still want to go on with it, best man and all?" he asked. Sherlock twitched and looked over at him. "Hm? Y-yes, of course. Why wouldn't I?" he replied and sighed. John nodded and looked around the room. "So, who do you suppose your most precious person is?" he asked, "My best guess is Mrs. Hudson, we should probably keep an eye on her..." John offered. Sherlock nodded. "She can stay in my sight. You should probably go home to Mary."

"Are you kidding my Sherlock? The dead body of your date in on the floor with a hole through his heart! You're honestly going to tell me you're not in the least upset?" he asked.

"I brought him because I needed a date. I didn't have any relation to him, physical or emotional." he informed. John smiled in relief. "Still, there is a dead, innocent body in your sitting room." he said simply. Sherlock sighed, "I'll be fine John, it's not the first time I've been in a room with a dead body." he assured. "Allright. I suppose I'll see you soon. Don't be late for the wedding, Holmes." he warned, smiling.

"Wouldn't dream of it, John." he promised.

"Are you sure you haven't seen him?" Mary asked a flower arranger. "Last I saw, he was in his dressin' room. And y'know you can't go in there miss." the woman chuckled and walked off. Mary went to his door and knocked, "You allright, dear?" she asked.

"Hmm? Yes dear. Patience, love." came the reply. Mary chuckled, "Allright, just don't leave me stranded at the alter." she said and walked off. John bit his knuckles. He was nervous. Was he ready for marriage? Was he ready for a life away from his best friend? Holmes was more than a best friend and he was lying if he said anything different. He loved Holmes, a bit more than platonic. But what did he expect? Holmes didn't feel anything beyond being able to tolerate someone. He sighed and sat on a chair, holding his head in his hands.

'Here Comes the Bride' played from the pipe organ, echoing through the church. Mary walked down the isle, looking radiant. The guests were looking at her, then back to the front of the church, where stood a dashing man. Mary quickened her pace, anxiousness on her face, but hidden by a smile. She walked up to the handsome man and spoke.

"Allright Holmes, WHERE IS HE?"

(to be continued ;P)


	5. Chapter 5

Imperfection Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes.

This chapter contains intense pain, language, torture, and a bit of smut. You've been warned.

Recap:

'Here Comes the Bride' played from the pipe organ, echoing through the church. Mary walked down the isle, looking radiant. The guests were looking at her, then back to the front of the church, where stood a dashing man. Mary quickened her pace, anxiousness on her face, but hidden by a smile. She walked up to the handsome man and spoke.

"Allright Holmes, WHERE IS HE?"

"I am being fully and completely honest with you when I say, I have not a clue in the world." Sherlock said, looking just as worried as the wife-to be.

"Dash it all! Forget marital tradition, I've got to find out what is going on with him!" Mary said, hiking up her skirts to make her way to the dressing room. "I-I will!" Sherlock said, "And if there's anything amiss, I'll fix it. And if I need you, I'll call you in. Someone has to remain calm and be the face of the couple." he said simply. Mary looked at him, uncertain, "A-allright. But tell me, the second anything is wrong." she said quickly. Sherlock nodded and rushed off to the dressing quarters. He knocked on the door. "John? John, come on, your precious wife is waiting." Sherlock began. Under his knock the door opened a crack. He pushed the rest open, "John, w-... John?" Sherlock called, the room was empty, window open, and a deck of cards strewn on the floor. To buy the killer time, no doubt. "Dammit!" Sherlock growled and searched for the kings in the mass of red and white. He flipped each card over untill he saw a letter scrawled on the back of the card. He read, frantic.

'Dearest Sherlock,

It seems you failed to protect your most precious person. A shame. You should've seen his face when he found out, flustered and bothered. I'm sure you would've enjoyed it. Oh well. Plenty more voices out of him tonight for me, excruciating pain and the cries of bloody murder, mostly. However, if you wish to join me in the symphony I'm waiting. And I am every so excited to see your face my dear, we'll meet for the first time. Oh, isn't that romantic? Hurry now, it's nearly showtime.

With love and bated breath,

-A'

"Goddammit! I'm too late." he hissed. He paced, holding his head, times like these he could really use a pipe. He was running out of time, he deduced under pressure, drew conclusions, took chances. "Show time, symphony, Opera house?" he inquired outloud. There was a knocking on the door. "Sherlock?! What is going on? Where's John?" Mary asked upon entering. She saw the cards in Sherlock's hands. "No... No." she breathed. "No, Sherlock, No! H-how could this've?! I just... Find him. Find him and bring him back. Bring him home." she commanded. Sherlock nodded, "I will. More or less..." he promised and tried all of the theatres and music halls in a mile radius, then finally, the opera house.

"Oh John, y'know it's a pity for you. It really is a shame. How did you get yourself into such a big mess? Honestly, living with someone like Sherlock Holmes, befriending him, falling in love with him... Realizing it would never work, settling for a woman you don't love and living a hum-drum life you always hated." A voice said, a pout in his tone. The voice chuckled and came out into the spotlight where John was hanging by his arms from the catwalk above. "Oh, isn't this a sight as well, I love seeing a good man hanged." he said.

John growled, "And you sure love your puns." he wheezed.

"Indeed. I appologize if you think they're 'knot' that funny." he said, his bright white grin a snarl. "Well, enough jokes. Better get the show started, a shame the star has yet to arrive... Oh well!" he chuckled.

Another light flickered on to a table, above it a rope hanging. The table, held many insteuments of torture, glinting and gleaming in their menacing way. The pale man walked forward with determined steps, his sharp features casting disturbing shadows over his face. His green eyes shone in the spotlight, a brooding emerald tint. He held behind his back a whip of sorts, a black leather rope the branched off into smaller whippits, intended to be used on him, no doubt, and a knife. The man walked behind John and ripped the tuxedo jacket in two, causing the remnants of expensive black fabric to settle on the floor, he kicked it elsewhere. "I bet that was expensive... But you must forgive me. I didn't want to get blood all over it." he hissed. He walked to the front of John and unbuttoned many buttons to reveal the doctor's sculpted chest. "Army indeed..." the man purred, "Too bad you're not my type." John twitched and tried to get away from the man's icy hands, but to no avail.

Finally the man returned behind John and raised an arm, he whacked John's back once with an unusual amount of strength for a man with a smaller frame. John gasped and grunted in surprise. The lash had ripped through his shirt and began to make welts and raised skin bumps. The next whip drew blood. John cried out in pain and bit his lip to silence himself. "Oh no no no..." the voice chided, "Don't keep those beautiful noises hidden, you want Sherlock to find you right?" he asked and whacked again, this time on John's side, earning a choked sob and panting. Blood began to drip on the operahouse floor. The man held the whip in his lax hand and walked back to the front. He raised the knife and put in on the side of John's face. "Oh Sherly'll be so mad at me if I ruin your face... Too bad I quite like my men rough." he purred and knicked John's cheek, a grunt escaping the man's lips. The knife trailed down to John's chest where he carved a large, deep, caligraphy style 'A'. John screamed, the blood flowing immediately.

The doors slammed open, "John!" Sherlock's voice called. John's eyes lit up and he strained to look past the stage lights. The man dropped his knife and turned around, seeing Sherlock and blushing. "My, my. Don't you look handsome? You didn't have to dress for me... But I won't complain." he said, licking his lips hungrilly. Sherlock bared his teeth and hurried up to the stage, another spotlight following him. "So, we finally meet... 'A'. A shame we haven't been properly introduced." Sherlock prompted.

"Allistair V. Richards at your service my love." the man said and did a bit of a bow. "Like what you see Sherlock?" he asked, "Not everyday you see a man so vulnerable..." he purred, circling around John. "Mmm, thats why I like you Sherlock. You don't have to be vulnerable to be attractive. You're strong. I love that." he said, holding up the blood soaked knife and licking it. "Y'know John here is surprisingly strong too... He hasn't cried once." Allistair commented. Sherlock shook his head, walking closer, seeing the damage clearly on his dear friend. "J-John... N-no..." Sherlock breathed weakly.

"Sherlock, don't worry about me. J-just get this done." he growled. Allistair lifted his hand, the knife going to John's neck. "If you get much closer I will slice his throat. All the quicker to be with you my love, by all means keep coming." Allistair purred. Sherlock had made it up the stairs and was finally on stage, close to the two other men. He looked in pain, wanting to save John, yet wanting to keep him from dying. "Aw now, that face is so sad. It troubles me so..." Allistair whined, poking the knife closer to John's neck.

He whimpered and squirmed. Sherlock twitched, "Stop. Stop hurting him! What do you want from me?" he asked finally.

"I want all of you Sherlock dear. I want to be your everything, just like Watson is." he motioned to the man.

"Y-you can't force someone to love you, Allistair. Especially not Sherlock." John said, coughing after the absence of the knife. "Sherlock's not one for love. It's not really his area." John said.

"Really? I'd say the way he rushed after his most precious person says something." Allistair said with a jealous glint.

"Most precious person? That's a laugh. Sherlock Holmes has no feeling other than pride." John said. Sherlock looked at John, shocked, did he really feel that way?

"J-John... You are important to me. The most important." he promised.

"No. You don't. You just needed someone to help pay rent and be a helpful hand with medical things." John insisted. Allistair raised an eyebrow at the turn of events.

"Well, that settles it doesn't it? Wouldn't you rather be with someone who loves you?" he asked.

"Love. We just met. You've stolen almost everything important to me... Though my most precious person doesn't feel the same..." Sherlock mumbled, reasoning everything.

"Maybe I did. But you didn't care enough to take advantage." John choked out. Sherlock looked into the man's eyes. "If that's how you feel..." he said softly. Anger welled on his face. "Fine then. I accept your affections." Sherlock said with a wicked smile. "Now, shall we complete the fairy tale?" he asked. Allistair smiled and walked a bit closer. "Meet me halfway, luv." he begged. Sherlock nodded and walked over to him, taking the side of his head and lifting it upwards, their lips touching.

Sherlock grabbed the knife the second Allistair's eyes fluttered closed, kicking him backwards into the audience, and running up to John, cutting his restraints and bringing him down. "Oh Sherlock, thank God you caught on."John gasped.

"Of course my dear Watson. You are after all, in the presence of the one and only Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock said, grinning.

Allistair recovered from his fall and scrambled up to the stage. "Sherlock? How could you?! We're perfect for each other." he said, his eyes ablaze with jealousy.

"No. We're not. You're just not my type." Sherlock hissed.

Allistair walked forward, pistol in hand.

"No. If- If I can't have you... N-no one can!" he screeched.

A shot resounded though the theatre.


	6. Chapter 6

Imperfection Ch.6

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes, oh how I wish I did...

This chapter contains bromance, and self inflicted pain.

Recap: If I can't have you, nobody can, Bang!

"Sherlock!" John cried, seeing the man fall to his knees. Allistair opened his eyes,

"And now for you John Watson..." he began.

"You missed Allistair dear..." Sherlock chuckled. The bullet hadn't touched him. While he was on the floor he grabbed the knife that had been tossed aside and stood.

"Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, your choice." Sherlock explained. "You can come with me to Scotland Yard, or you can fight me, and die at my hand." he growled.

"I choose neither." Allistair said, quivering. He turned the gun on himself. Another shot resounded, a thump following. Sherlock twitched.

"Well, thats one way to go about it..." John breathed.

"Not pleasant though." Sherlock breathed.

"Indeed not." John agreed.

"Well, we'd better get you back to the chapel, Mary is waiting." Sherlock sighed. John pulled Sherlock close to him, "Let her wait." he said, searching the detective's eyes for a sign of emotion. Sherlock smiled softly and cautiously took the side of John's face, connecting their lips finally. John closed his eyes immediately, relishing the feeling. He nearly whimpered when Sherlock pulled away.

"Right then. Off we go." Sherlock said softly, picking John up bridal style and carrying him to the church.

They arrived at the chapel and after a bit of tidying up John was returned to the alter next to Mary. John didn't understand. Sherlock kissed him and gave up on him? It just wasn't fair. All during the ceremony his mind reeled. Angry, sad, broken. He sighed and ignored the priests droning and Mary's questioning glances.

Sherlock was pondering as well. He brought John back because he felt John deserved the life of a husband to a beautiful wife. He deserved a family and a future after all he'd put him through. He figured that would be the rational thing to do, something a friend would do. The average man couldn't be that selfish could he? But then again, under what circumstances was Sherlock Holmes an average man?

"Is there anyone who objects to the union of these two children of God, speak now or forever hold your peace." the minister spoke. It was silent, then Sherlock stood.

"I object." he said simply. "I am a man of many complexities and not many emotions. But I cannot lie when I say John Watson is the only person whom I care about. And I cannot loose him. Not even to the most perfect woman. I hope you'll forgive me." he admitted softly. John's eyes widened, his cheeks flushed.

"Holmes, but, you're fine without me, hell you're perfect." John defended.

"No John, I'm not. I'm far from it. I love you John Watson. And that is my imperfection." he said, walking up to him.

"Imperfection my arse." John mumbled and pulled the unsuspecting man close, kissing him roughly. "I love you too Holmes." he breathed.

"Good. If you didn't this would've been dreadfully awkward."

"Oh shut up!" John breathed, and they kissed again.

Mary watched the two and shook her head, twitching. "You'll regret this John. You both will. Just wait." the woman screeched and exited the room, fuming.

"Believe she'll turn homicidal?" John asked.

"Most likely. Well, that will be fun to tackle. Now, we can't let a perfectly good wedding go to waste now can we?" Sherlock stated, grinning happily.

John looked around. "I-I suppose not..." he said softly, embarassed. "No objections?" he asked, and no one spoke up. It was almost a known fact around Baker street that the two men were a little 'too close.'

A couple of 'I do's' later, and it was done, John and Sherlock driving home, John staring dumbfoundedly at the band on his finger, Sherlock grinning like an idiot.

"Now my dear Watson, where shall we honeymoon?" he inquired, smiling mischeviously.

"Oh, come off it Holmes!"

THE END

Please comment and give advice as to new stories, critique on this one, all is welcome. However, don't flame due to it's homosexual nature. :) Thanks.


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